


Shutterbug

by rubyyong



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 09:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16829413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyyong/pseuds/rubyyong
Summary: Ten had been photographing his whole life, but he can’t recall ever being as infatuated with a subject than as he was with you.





	Shutterbug

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Dom!Ten + Sub!Reader. Mentions of light alcohol consumption, descriptive smut; light nipple-play, hair-pulling, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving).

Ten had been taking photos for many years.

It started with capturing vibrant stills of the flowers in his parents garden when he was a young boy, continuing long after he had ran out of film.

He opened up his own studio a little over a year ago. Once he had made enough progress to be granted a business loan, a dream that he had been aiming to achieve since he started photography classes when he was 15.

In the past couple of years, he had travelled all over. Seen vintage architecture and rare gemstones, he had captured cherubs in graveyards and dived to the depths of the sea to capture obscure wildlife.

But he had never seen a sight quite like you before.

Ten can’t recall even being as infatuated with one of his subjects as he was with you. Perched upon a wooden stool in a lengthy dress spattered in a floral pattern that reminds him of when he was a child, he admires your features for lengthy bursts of dreamlike fantasies in between taking shots.

You’re a dream in soft lilac; your hair falling naturally around your face as you smile sweetly down the camera, hands crossed neatly in your lap. “Now, turn your head to the left,” Ten instructs, pointing his finger in the desired direction as he awaits your compliance.

You give a small nod, turning in your chair in the way he asked. “No,” he shakes his head, coming over to where you’re sat. Your eyes rounded in question at his lack of usual praise, “Not your body, just your face, doll,” he re-instructs.

He raises a hand to hover over your cheek, your eyes almost closing at the proximity, before he pauses. “May I?” He asks quietly, looking down at you from behind his chic glasses. You nod, muttering a small, “Yes,” as you give him permission.

He sweeps your hair behind your ear softly, brushing his thumb along the piercing embedded in your lobe before he diverts his touch to your chin. Tilting your head ever so slightly so the slope of your nose is high up, your gaze now aimed downwards as he moves back.

“Perfect,” he grins, “Stay like that for me,” he instructs. You hold back a nod as you obey his words, looking down at the camera as he comes to kneel before you, your gaze slipping from the lens to behind, your eyes connected to Ten’s in the most daring way.

He pauses the constant flow of clicks at his camera, huffing slightly before continuing. “In the lens, doll. Look in the lens,” he orders, his tone gentle and sugary soft despite his frustration.

He captures you like that for a few minutes, estimating he’s taken close to a hundred stills just in that position alone. He lets his camera fall to hang around his neck, cracking his knuckles as he steps back.

“I think that’s perfect,” he nods affirmatively. You smile brightly at the news, coming to stand on your feet. “Oh! Good,” you chuckle, “I was starting to get a little stiff,” you smile brightly, rolling your neck. He averts his gaze and holds back a grin at your chirpy tone of voice.

The industry had brought him to collaborate with countless primadonna’s, with clients who demanded custom sets and backdrops and used him as a camera operator. But you, you listened perfectly to his suggestions, and he couldn’t be more pleased with the thought of working with you again in the future. With someone so polite and appreciative. Docile and subdued.

“Remember to invite me to your first film premiere, yeah?” Ten jokes, watching you slide your caramel-suede handbag onto your shoulder. You let out a small laugh in response, “Don’t have that much confidence in me,” you reply bashfully.

He tuts, “With head-shots like those, you’re bound to book jobs. Trust me,” he angles his gaze as he speaks, emphasising his sincerity. You shrug, “I snagged a good photographer, what can I say?” You reply playfully. He shakes his head adamantly, “Nothing to do with me, doll. You’re the beauty, the camera doesn’t fake that.”

You stare at him for a while too long after that, you think. Because he begins smirking knowingly as you trace over his features. Trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes beyond the glare in his glasses, caused by the overhead lights in his studio.

“Ten,” you call softly, your eyes now on the way his nose juts out at the tip. He hums in response, “Are you busy tonight?” He sighs, folding his arms. Ivory skin exposed as his black button-down creeps up his forearms. “Why wait until tonight?” He challenges, “You hungry?”

‘Thirsty?’‘ He should’ve asked, because he did not take you out to eat. He walked you down to an outdoor pub, to a boisterous vendor specialising in Northern-Chinese Mead.

You had never tried honey-wine before, but as soon as you taste in on your tongue it screams Ten. It’s strong and dry and there’s a sweetness in your mouth, alike the aforementioned honey that lingers heavily on your tongue.

“Nice?” He asks over his own pint, to which you nod happily. “It’s sweet,” you hum as you take another sip. He notices the way you take subtle glances over his body, your eyes darting toward his leather jacket each time the zip makes metal jingling sounds. “You like the jacket?” He quirks, resting his head on his palm, elbow shielded from the sticky bar-top by his second-skin.

You nod, “It’s... I like it,” you praise, reaching your hand out to brush your fingers against it. Ten notices the contrast, soft pastel nails scratching against the leather, good and bad, day and night. Heaven and hell.

When you look up from where your fingertips linger, you’re met with his curious gaze. Your parted lips and your hair, dishevelled by the soft winds that breeze through the city at night. A nearby customer’s phone rings loudly, seemingly snapping you out of your daze and bringing you back to Earth. A soft gasp leaves your lips, your tongue darting out to wet them as you pull back and straighten your posture.

“I think I've forgotten my phone in your studio,” you mention, embarrassment taking over as you hold your head in your hands. You shiver as Ten touches a hand to your bare shoulder comfortingly, “That’s okay, we’ll just head up and look for it.” He offers, retracting his hand once you look to him.

“Are you sure? It’s getting late, don’t you need to head home?” You ask, watching a smile tug at his lips as he chuckles. “The studio is my home, doll. C’mon, it’s no bother,” he assures you, moving to stand.

You follow him, walking along the same path you took on your way down to the pub with the same silence. Thick with sexual tension and racing minds, mutual attraction and unspoken advances.

He turns to you, his gaze lingering upon your figure as he unlocks his door. Letting you in first as he turns on the lights, you scurry over to where you laid your handbag earlier. Upon his desk scattered in gold pens and ebony sticky notes with metallic ink scrawled onto them.

You fish your phone out from your bag and lay it on the table, feigning a gasp as you pick it up and hold it up for him to see. “Found it,” you sigh dramatically, displaying your relief.

He juts his chin up as he walks over to you, gently plucking the phone from your grasp. “Hm,” he starts, swinging the phone between his thumb and forefinger. “This was here?” He points it toward his desk.

You nod, watching as he tilts his head. “Are you sure?” He asks unbelieving of you, “You sure you didn’t plant it there?” You swallow thickly, watching as he places it on his desk with a thud, stepping an inch toward you. “You sure it wasn’t in your bag the whole time?” He asks, soft breath the scent of honey fanning over your warmed cheeks.

He raises a hand, his jacket jingling with those same sounds as he moves, tracing a lithe finger along your jaw. “Doll, you couldn’t be more obvious if you tried,” he whispers, admiring the way your eyes flutter closed at the contact.

“What do you want, hm? A kiss?” He muses, his fingernails scratching bluntly along the underside of you chin as he awaits your answer. “Please,” you whisper curtly, already pursing your lips in preparation.

He smiles at the action, leaning forward to press his lips to yours in a kiss soft and sweet and the entire opposite of what you had expected. Your hands rest at the ends of his jacket, using the opportunity to grab onto the material and tug him closer, sucking at the buxom flesh of his top lip.

He sighs at the feeling, using the hand under your chin to slide to your neck, holding at the side to keep you in place. He pushes past your lips with his tongue, humming at the sweet taste in your mouth when you reciprocate his movements.

Your tongues tangle together, wet and hot and vigorous as you attempt to get closer to him, sliding your fingers up to grasp at his lapels. He grunts at the action, his hand now moving to your nape to push you into him, lapping at your tongue with feverish licks.

You pull away to breathe, panting against his lips as he gives you small nips to the flesh, soaking up each mewl that escapes from your mouth. You grasp at the ends of your dress and Ten helps you out of it, pulling it upward and over your head. Adjusting your hair into place once you toss it aside.

Ten groans in delight as his studio lights hit your perked breasts, picking you up to sit you atop his desk. His hands trail up your sides as he dips you backward, laving at your hardened nipples with fervour as he tastes your skin.

You whimper at the feeling, your hands still grasping at his lapels for leverage as he pinches at one of the buds with closed lips. You moan softly, hyper-aware of the echo the room carries.

Ten pulls away to regain eye contact with you, helping you upright as he speaks. “As much as I’d love to have you on my desk, we should take this to my bedroom,” he drawls, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. “Much more comfortable.”

You pant softly, pressing your thighs together in reaction to his words. He scoops you up in his arms, the leather cool to the underside of your thighs as he brings you to the next room.

You’re spilled out on his mattress as he lays you down, atop his soft charcoal sheets. The lack of bed frame meaning that from where you’re laid at floor level, he appears statuesque above you.

He shrugs his jacket off, kneeling onto the bed as he approaches you. “Sit up,” he instructs, humming when you obediently comply. He drapes it over your shoulders, the new-found warmth sending a chill up your spine in contrast to the temperature of your body. It smells of him, of burnt amber and jasmine and it’s only when you look to find him undressing that you slide the jacket on.

He exposes the alabaster flesh of his belly with each button he undoes, peeling it off and tossing it carelessly aside as he comes to kneel before you. He presses his lips to yours once again, tugging on the collar of the jacket, drawing a squeak from your lips at the action.

You moan into his mouth as his hands dance across your hips, pulling you into his body as he drinks from your mouth. He slides his warm fingertips into the waistband of your panties, letting them sit there, stationed as he occupies himself with your lips.

You mewl when his fingers spring to life, moving to the apex of your thighs to cup your heat. You jut your hip to try and feel his touch, wanting nothing more than to grind down onto his fingers but he won’t allow it. “I want you to sit,” he pauses, swiping hot fingers along your clit, “Right on my face, okay?” He asks, dipping his fingers into the pooled wetness that spills from your entrance. You swallow thickly, your brows furrowed as he strokes over you slowly.

He pulls his hand back, glistening fingers making sticky marks on his sheets as he crawls over to lay on his back. He watches as you peel off your underwear with hands that shake in anticipation, letting them fall wherever you toss them. You straddle him, his hands coming up to rest on your hips as you make your way up his body, stopping once you’re hovered over his chest. He shimmies further down the bed, so his head lays directly beneath your heat.

You can see yourself in the reflection of his glasses, moving to take them off of him and folding them as you place them above on his windowsill. His eyes are wide and dark without his frames, eyelashes fluttering with each lift of his lids to peer up at you.

He takes the edges of your jacket and holds them in one hand behind your back, using the opportunity to push you down so you’re seated on him fully. You whimper as his tongue rolls through your folds, gasping as he gives a long lick at your clit. He flattens his tongue between your folds and moans, the deep vibration causing you to cry out softly, your hand flying down to grip at his dark tresses.

The harsh tugging of his roots only seem to spur him on in his movements, sucking on your clit in strong pulses that make your belly dip each time. Your back arches as he gives a leisurely lick to the length of your heat, repeating the action until you start rolling your hips in search of quicker relief. Your body burning up with white-hot pleasure.

His other arm is curled around your thigh, holding you down to him as you try to wriggle in his grasp, moving the best you can with the mild restriction.

It’s not long before you start to loose yourself, your breath coming out in steady pants and your grip tightening in his hair. He admires the way you look when you’re close to falling apart, the way you lick at your lips and focus on the pleasure with your eyes closed.

He brings his incessant tongue to your entrance, dipping it in and curling it in an effort to get you to cum. You think it’s the brush of his nose against your clit that brings you there, your orgasm so close you can barely breathe.

Your lungs are burning as you hold your breath, moving your hips as you ride his tongue in determined ruts as you cum. You fall apart above him, spilling your sweetness deliciously into his mouth until his chin and cheeks are glistening with your essence.

He lifts his head from the bed to get closer to your heat, digging his tongue between your folds to suck up every last bit that you spill over for him until your hips jerk with sensitivity. You run a hand through your hair as you sit up and away from him, gripping onto the edge of the window sill above for leverage as you move off of him. You pant as you sit back on your legs, falling backwards as you catch your breath.

His jacket is now hot on your skin, so you open it up, exposing your skin to the chill in his room as you recover from your orgasm. You feel him come over to you as he moves about the bed, when you tiredly slide your eyes open there’s a small smirk tugging at his lips. He kisses you with his hand to your neck again, his thumb pressed over your pulse point, admiring the rate at which it jumps.

He pulls back with a lingering peck to your lips, “Gorgeous,” he breathes. “Can you go again?” He drawls in question, his dark hair falling into his eyes. You hum in thought for a moment, paused until you feel his fingers trail over your clit, as if encouraging you. The feather-light touch drawing a heedy moan from you as you watch a knowing smirk cast over his features.


End file.
